


Another Dream That Shouldn't Be Real

by calapine



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:06:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calapine/pseuds/calapine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tea and cakes and Hatters make for very nice dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Dream That Shouldn't Be Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lalaietha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaietha/gifts).



> A Yuletide Treat for lalaietha.

The cakes are excellent. The tea is superb. And dear Hatter pours with a practiced grace that is a delight to watch. Alice sits back. She relaxes. She smiles. One should enjoy the good dreams, she believes.

“To Alice,” says the Hatter, raising his teacup, “hero of Underland.”

Oh, yes, of course, she’s a hero here. The champion of a queen. And famous. And brave. How wonderful. (She means it too, it is wonderful, even though she can’t express the sentiment to herself without a shade of acrimony.)

The Hatter smiles. Alice smiles back.

She likes Hatters. Hatters are wonderful too.

They drink their tea. They eat their cake. There is an elegant simplicity here that she could sink into, blissfully content, for a time, at least.

“I should so much like this to be real,” says Alice. She reaches for the teapot to pour herself a second cup, but the Hatter intervenes.

“It’s not that I think you’ll break it,” he says, “it’s just you haven’t quite got the knack. Pouring is important, you see, for the flavour.”

“Is it?” asks Alice, certain she’s not heard that before.

“Of course it is. Watch.” He pours. She watches carefully. She sees the pale brown liquid arch elegantly through the air. She sees the steam drift up and away, soft and aimless in the gentlest of breezes (and, for just a moment, it seems to twist into the shape of a smile). She hears the tea hit the china of the cup, and it’s such a good sound she could laugh. But she does not see how the flavour could possibly be affected.

She adds her own sugar and milk and the Hatter doesn’t interfere in that.

“I tried not to be mad anymore,” says the Hatter conversationally.

“Oh,” says Alice, sipping delicately at her tea. She spoons more sugar into it. She likes sweet dreams. “Did that work?”

“It did,” says the Hatter, then he frowns. “But I didn’t like it very much.”

“Oh,” says Alice again. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles. “No need for that. It’s very nice being able to choose. Most people can’t, you know.”

His smile changes, becoming gentle, kind. “I’m not mad,” says Alice.

The smile doesn’t waver. “There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s not your fault. And it is positively welcome in present company.”

“I do know, but I’m not. I’m just having a dream, that’s all.” She takes a mouthful of tea, swallowing hard. The sweetness sticks to the back of her throat.

“Another dream?” says the Hatter.

“Another dream,” insists Alice. She pours herself a little milk and sips at that instead.

The Hatter looks sad. He looks tired. Alice wonders how old he is. Do dreams age? He never seems to, and if he’s real that can’t possibly be right. “Are they all dreams, when you visit?” he asks. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” says Alice.

The Hatter sighs, but doesn’t protest again. “There’s less running around in this one,” he says. “Less slaying too.”

“Yes. I’m rather glad about that.”

“Is it a nice one, this another dream?” asks the Hatter.

Alice leans forward. The Hatter’s hand is resting on the table. She takes it in her own. “If I were to live in a dream, it would be this one.”

The Hatter looks away. The smile is different again. “That’s very kind.”

The milk has washed away the taste of sugar, and Alice realises she’s been unfair, perhaps a little cruel. She doesn’t mind if this isn’t a dream, truly, but there are others, and they have no Hatters or tea or Queens or champions. They have no Cheshire cats or dormice with needles.

They have silence and shadows. And whispers of terrible things.

And if her dreams are real, then why not her nightmares?

But they are not. They are not. And this...this is different, she decides. This is special.

“Would you care to dance, Hatter?”

He looks up at her, eyes wide with delight. “Dancing at a tea party? I’m not sure that’s done.”

“I’m certain it isn’t.”

He nods. “A dance then.” He stands, a little awkwardly, and offers Alice his hand. “Would you prefer on the table, or under it?”

“I shouldn’t think there’s enough room under the table,” says Alice.

“I do have a drink that could-”

“No!” says Alice. “No, thank you.”

“On it it is then.” He steps up onto his chair, then the table, leading Alice to do the same. “I like that we’re both the same size, relatively. I should think it makes dancing so much easier.”

“A futterwacken then?” asks Alice.

“A futterwacken dance,” agrees the Hatter and begins to move, all smooth and slidey and offensive to physics and biology and reality too, she shouldn’t wonder. It’s marvellous to watch, terrifying to imitate, but she does her best.

The top of the table is not meant for a dance. It’s very difficult amongst all the cups and saucers and the plates and jugs. Poor milk jug. It falls to the ground and smashes into a dozen pieces.

Alice futterwackens as best she can, but no matter how hard she tries, she cannot get her head to spin.

“You’ve been practicing,” the Hatter says, sounding pleased.

“A little, perhaps.” Her limbs feel twisty and turny and maybe a little wrong, but when she examines them everything seems to be facing the right direction. “There’s not much call for futterwacken at home.”

“Such a pity,” says the Hatter.

Alice takes a deep breath and takes both the Hatter’s hands. “Perhaps they would like it better if they saw it done properly: come back to Overland with me.”

“What an absurd idea.”

“I know, isn’t it lovely? Come back with me.”

The Hatter exhales slowly. “It would make the most marvellous story.”

“Is that a yes?”

“There are hats there?” he asks.

“Many,” says Alice.

“And ravens?”

“Of course.”

“Writing desks?”

“I’ve one of my very own.”

He looks at her, eyes so green and bright and strange and he says, “I shouldn’t think I can, but you may try to take me with you if you like, dear Alice. I should very much like to see your world, I think.”

Alice nods and closes her eyes. The Hatter’s fingers hold press tightly against her own. She bites her bottom lip and she wishes so very hard for impossible things.

They are, after all, the very best sort of things.


End file.
